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So, a friend of mine is opening her business tomorrow at the upscale swanky Shops at Briargate (other businesses in the "mall" include Williams-Sonoma, Pottery Barn, Eddie Bauer, Coldwater Creek, Sharper Image, etc.) and I just finished uploading her website. No, you may not see it, as it is ... sigh. Let me set the stage.

First, she wants me to use iWeb, which my lappy nor Ben's mini came with, and we go through the whole order-deliver-install thing. I start using it, and want to shoot someone. I tear at my clothing, grit my teeth, and do a passable job using the damned thing, and voila (not wallah, people, really, omg, i'm going to strangle the next person who posts "wallah, my thing that I was knitting is done" ... but I digress) I've got a couple of pages of stuff to post.

I have no descriptions of what things are, but I have some idea of what SOME things are because we had them in our house and photographed them. I have NO clue what the model at her Denver photo shoot is wearing, nor how to describe them, and I got those LAST NIGHT, and the frickin' grand opening is TOMORROW.

So, I asked (sometime last week) for the user/pass to upload the *&(*$@#^&* that iWeb spits out, and got that, yes, LAST NIGHT. But not really. I got some sort of "Account Executive" privilages to the site, but can't figure out for the life of me how to actually PUT DATA to the frickin' thing. She gave me her credentials this morning (which have nothing to do with any sort of user/pass anywhere else), and we'll figure the damned thing out later.

Sigh. So, I put some of her 'model shoot' pix into the site while I tried to figure out what the hell was going on with the "account executive" shit and really, iWeb generates probably the worst code and worst data structure I've seen in a while... but then again, the last WYSIWYG HTML editor I used was FrontPage, EONS ago, so there's my comparison. Actually, I used DreamWeaver once, and remember it being somewhat awful, but this was before Y2k, and I've generally done everything by hand since.

I'm going to be using one of my weekend days rebuilding the site in GoLive, tagging the things that she should be able to change easily (products, featured products, front page photos, etc.), and giving her the "client version". This will let me do things like ... have VARIABLE length/width pages with variable block lengths. It will let me create a BLANK FUCKING PAGE WITHOUT HAVING TO HAVE A TEMPLATE. Even iWeb's "blank" pages have shit on them. It makes me want to scream.

I uploaded all eleventyhundred subdirectories this morning, and the site's up and more or less usable, but with iWeb's directory within a directory structure, its fixed size everythings, and pictures as backgrounds to its fixed-size blocks of text and crap. I understand wanting to have a fixed size whatever due to css concerns, but damnit if I don't want to shoot someone after trying to figure out why the fricking page won't scroll, and my data's being cut off. After finding the Inspector, I was more or less ok with it, but still am relishing being able to dump iWeb into the trash can, and hearing the paper-crinkle of its bits being "recycled".

Stupid iWeb. Stupid Hosting people. Stupid Fetch (which I thought I still had a few days of trial left, but had to buy so I could post). Stupid friend not giving me enough data to actually work with.

I'm going to work out now; my frustrat-o-meter's getting too high. I think an hour of walking nowhere, uphill, both ways, will let me go to work without wanting to kill my co-workers the second I see them.

Found this on someone's blog, thought it was awesomely insane and random.

In the year 2007 I resolve to:
Make my own porn video

Get your resolution here.

Context: I woke up from a dream on Monday morning and wrote this. Warning: Rough draft. Warning: minimally edited.

There is morre to the story that follows, I can feel it. I just need to get my fingers on the keyboard for an hour or two in a quiet time.

--ksh

Her name was Lya, she came from the desert, as they all had, to find a trade to support herself.

Tall and lean, Lya had seen none of the years of plenty that herr elders had described; she knew only of the desert, the endless shifting sands, the small game that made its home there, and the relentless cacti willing to share their water with those clever enough to seek it.

She came into town that morning wearing sand goggles, a dusty shirt and pants, both almost worn to shreds by the wind and sand, and a thick blue leather duster that had almost certainly belonged to one of the more unfortunate travelers in a previous caravan. It hung on her small frame, and almost brushed the ground as she made her way through the town. The ensemble was completed by a pair of thick brown leather boots two sizes too large that had been stuffed with rags to fit her feet. She carried a small bag with her belongings: a canteen, a compass, and a small leather-bound book.

Many a traveler arrived in the same manner, from the desert, with little to eat, little money, and blinking in the sunlight from the almost cloudless sky. Travelers got used to the semi-dark that the blowing sands produced from here to the surrounding towns. Without a compass or a knowledgeable guide, it was easy to spend days walking in circles, as the wind covered your tracks almost as soon as you left them. The townsfolk were never surprised when another blinking figure appeared from the sandstorm and stared at CIVILIZATION.

Lya pushed her goggles on top of her head and peered around, gaining her bearings. She headed slowly toward the army offices as if being led there by a parent or older sibling. Again, she was like many of her fellow travelers. The territory's army was known for feeding, clothing, and housing anyone willing to serve. She ran a hand through her short brown hair, windblown and sand caked, and decided that she needed to be more presentable. Her course changed like that of a sailboat in the wind, tacking towards the bath house.

Argosy ran a clean joint; the bath house was for bathin', and nothin' else. No hanky-panky went on in his establishment, and he let people know that up front. "If you're lookin' for a WHOORE, you've got a short walk down the street. This here's my bath house, and I'll have nothin' of that kind of trade," he told potential customers, both male and female, several times a week. He wasn't a religious man, just a clean one, who didn't like to put his mind anywhere near what kind of mess he'd have to clean up if he allowed such impropriety to appear under his roof. It was hard enough cleaning the dust and grit from the drains, and disinfecting to kill the lice many travelers carried. When the small figure appeared in his doorway, he was about to give the normal speech about the propriety of his establishment, but he hesitated, and greeted her with a smile instead.
        "Miss Lya! What a pleasure to see you today. You here for a quick shower? How's your mum?"
        "Afternoon, Argosy. Mum died as she lived, the best caravan leader in these territories. Raiders took us from three sides on this last trip. I was asleep in the last wagon, and they took me for already dead."
        "I'm so sorry, Miss Lya. Come in, come in. I'll have Jeanette start the hot water. You'll want a shower before your soak, I'm sure." Argosy was shocked to hear of Cassandra's death -- she was truly as Lya said, the best caravan leader in the territories. Her loss would mean fewer shipments, or no shipments for quite a while. He bellowed for his wife, "JEANETTE! Get 'er ready for the Women's Bath!"
        "Argosy Evan Johnson, I know full well what my job is!" came the shout from an upstairs room. "You just give me a minute to stoke this stove!"
        "She's a bit temper'mental today, hon. I'm sorry if this is upsetting," the chubby man said sheepishly. "You know how she gets."
        "I know, Argosy," Lya replied. "She's MY sister, after all." There was a long silence between them, then Lya spoke in a soft voice. "She'll want to know what happened to Mum. I should be the one to tell her. I... I don't know how she'll react. She and Mum never got along much, but she was still our Mum."
        Just then, a brunette woman stuck her head out the door of the upstairs boiler room. Her face was covered in sweat and ashes, but the likeness to the smaller woman was certain. She wiped her face in vain with a small towel, and shouted "Your shower's ready, miss!" Her whole expression changed when she saw the bather. "LYA!"
        Jeanette bounded down the stairs, two at a time, to greet her younger sister. She was easily head and shoulders taller, and defnitely better fed, but she didn't seem to care about her sister's sharp features, or her bony arms as she wrapped them around the larger girl. "Lya, where's Mum? The two of you usually come in together from a trip." Lya's dust-covered face looked up, and tears began to flow, washing her face like a river in the springtime. Jeanette knew immediately what this meant, and ushered her little sister through the door marked "Ladies Only".

        Lya continued to weep as she undressed to take a shower, and then through the shower, and finally wept tearlessly in the bath. "Jeannie," she kept saying, "I shoulda been at her side to help her."
        "No, Lya, if Mum couldn't handle it on her own, there's nothing you could've done. You were sick, anyway, and I doubt you could've sat up to aim, much less fired a single shot," Jeanette reassured her. The rebels had killed before, but never like this. Her mother was a seasoned traveller of the sands, and had dispatched many men to meet their maker. There was no doubt the grizzled old woman could have defended herself in a fair fight. From Lya's descriptions, though, it wasn't a fair fight in any sense of the word. Fifty armed men versus a three-wagon caravan of goods coming from Charles Town. Ma had her men, six of 'em, but outnumbered at almost 10 to 1, they had little chance.
        Unless Lya had been well. Lya was a marksman, and better than that, she was a novice magician. Her skills were to hide things from sight, and had she been awake, the storm would've hidden them in its cloak as well as a traveller hides his purse. But she had been ill, contracted a sickness from the children in Charles Town. It was only Providence that had saved Lya's life, and only Providence that she had not brought the sickness with her. Jeanette prayed silently for thanks that her entire family had not died in the attack as Lya told her tale.

        Jeanette put the girl to bed in the guest room, and locked the door. She calmly came back to the bath house, and continued her work in silence. Argosy and her work was the comfort she needed in a time like this.
        At 20, Jeanette was the oldest child of her family. She had married at 16, like most girls, and settled down. Henrietta, her mother, didn't understand the allure of settling down, and with one man, to boot, and told her so every time the caravan rolled through. Heather, 18, and the middle child, was in charge of her own caravan, and spent her time divided among the outlying towns of the territory. Like her mom, Heather was flame-haired, hot-tempered, and full of wanderlust. She and Lyr, Lya's twin brother (both 14), travelled terrain that most goods-haulers wouldn't touch, but Lyr and Lya both had the knack for finding the easiest route, for calming the winds at the right time, and for keeping the caravans safe.
        Jeanette was sure that Lyr and Lya were the children of their father, a magician named Elder Gryffin, but her mother had never told her so. She had never spoken of anyone's paternity, at least not when sober.
        Jeannette had plied her mother with wine one night to learn her own parentage. Henrietta admitted that Jeannette was the daughter of a tavern owner that Henrietta had been working for -- a tavern owner, Henrietta insisted was married at the time, but was entranced with her so that he committed adultery every time she came to town, and was therefore a scoundrel and deserved no part of Jeanette's ilfe.
        When Jeanette was of age, she sent a letter to that tavern owner, Jacob Bandy, and let him know of her existance. They had a polite, if not warm, relationship, which is how she found out that her mother had promised to settle down for him, and never could commit to it, which is why he married another woman in her absence, although continuing to carry on with Henrietta when she came to town, as she was his first and brightest love. Jeanette had two half-brothers, Jonas and Jacob Junior, (who she visits monthly) and a half-sister named Arianne, with whom Jeannette has tea every Saturday morning.

So Ben & I were out to dinner last night, and he asked the waitress "What three cheeses are in the three cheese lasagna?"

The waitress says "Um... Mozzarella, American, and ... ummm... I can't think of the third one."

She goes wandering off and asks another member of the waitstaff about 10 feet away, who says "Mozzarella and Parmesan on top, ricotta in the lasagna."

The waitress comes back to the table, and proudly says "Mozzarella, Parmesan, and Risotto cheese. It's like risotto, but creamier."

So, Denver got another medium-big snow yesterday. I'm covering for the guy who works the end of the week. I got in my car yesterday at 12:30pm and drove to work. I got to work at 3 pm. The office had already closed, and 'essential personnel' were all that was left -- one guy in customer support, most of us in the NOC. The company had provided food (frozen dinners, sandwich stuff, veggies and fruit, etc.) and a hotel for the night (and a case of what I assume is decent beer, and a bottle of tequila).

So the 'days' crew goes over to the hotel, with the nights sup, and begin to party. The nights sup calls over, says she and the (hourly) guy who comes in nights are going to be late, and she's made the arrangements, and would I mind bunking co-ed. Well, um.. wtf? Co-ed? I get the "we're all professionals" line. Yeah, but try explaining that to a spouse. I asked the guys I was with (all married) how their wife would react if they spent the night (no matter how chastely) with a woman they hardly knew, in a hotel room.

The swings sup gets on the phone with the manager, who says if we can't figure something out, there are other hotels in the area, and we can expense it. After he goes over to check things out and discuss the propriety of 'bunking' people of different sexes into rooms, it gets worked out that one of the days guys will sleep on the floor in another room, and I get a room to myself (?), and the nights sup will sleep in the room with her charge (male).

The 2 of them (nights sup and nights guy) show up reeking of alcohol, slurring their words, around 2 hours after they're supposed to show up. The days guy drove them over in his 4wd truck, and when asked when he's going to sleep, just laughs.

So, were we all wrong to think that co-ed hotel rooms are inappropriate, and that coming in at the very least rather buzzed (and slurring words) is just plain wrong (even if the company paid for alcohol)? Or am I just a major buzzkill?

Personally, I believe that you should come to work sober. Sure, party some, but drink responsibly, and don't get drunk off your ass if you know you're coming into work later. I also know that while Ben probably wouldn't have held it against me that I was in a hotel room with another guy, that I wouldn't be comfortable with it. Especially if it was one of the guys who had been drinking.

Oh well, off to edit some photos. One of my xmas presents was a 60gb hd for the ibook, and I finally got CS2 re-authenticated (via the phone and a nice lady at adobe support).

PS - what is this publicize-publish-post crap?